Last night I started the daunting task of cleaning out my closets in order to prepare for the move. The good news is, it kind of looks like Ive started to make a dent. I mean, seven giant garbage bags full of clothing and shoes to donate, and four shopping bags full of barely worn or never-worn stuff to take to the consignment store. The bad news? Theres oh so much more to go.
How did my closets fit all of this crap? Um. Well, they couldnt. For a couple of months now, my bedroom closet appeared to have barfed clothing into a pile in between my dresser and another chest full of what else? Clothes. Its a sickness I tell you. A disease. An obsession. I do not need all of this crap. So finally, I gave myself permission to ditch those ten-year-old leather pants and the chunky heeled boots and the textured sweaters that have pilled themselves into giant balls of tangled yarn.
I thought it would feel good to get all of that stuff out. But it didnt. It depressed me to no end. It simply reminded me of how much more I need to do before I move. See, because my company paid for my move last time, I simply let the movers come in and pack everything up (including the trash!) and truck it all here to the Great Midwest. But now, the moves on me. And I dont need to be wasting my hard-earned dollars on moving things that will never see the light of day again.
All of this, and yet I still wound up buying the greatest Custo jacket over the weekend. I couldnt help it! It was chilly over the weekend, and that darling belted white denim with the cool splashes of green, blue, and orange running up the left sleeve and down the side was just calling out to me, telling me that I would need it on Saturday night when Jen and I would be out and about.
Of course, I didnt wear the damn thing on Saturday night, and here it sits on the back of my dining room chair amidst all of the piles of extra boxes and things that I cleaned out of my coat closet.
Saturday was still quite festive, though Im growing very, very weary.
I wont go into the boring details. Lets just say that it was full of parties and ended with the promise of a date and yet another steamy mug-down session (separate incidents). No need to make up names here. They dont even really matter. Its pretty much the same old song and dance thats not going to lead to anything anyway. Sure, its been doing wonders for my ego attraction-wise. I feel quite attractive when I go out lately. But its what happens afterwards that makes me feel so shitty. I dont even need to get into that rant either. You know, the non-calls and the fake dates and the random messing around that leads nowhere.
Yep. Another weekend come and gone.
Okay. Need to get ready for work. Ive got a lot of cleaning out to do there as well. It never ends, does it?
Loading comments...